Christmas Room

After Thanksgiving each year, the kids understand that they are not to enter the spare bedroom in the basement. Mommy waits until late to wrap her presents, so there is a reason the "Christmas Room " is locked until Christmas Day.
This year, Turkey Day came and went. I predictably fell into the trap of trying to meet the unrealistic expectations of the Christmas Season. And I dealt with it in a very grown up manner: by whining. Caught up in the illusion of the "perfect Christmas," I started to become overwhelmed. This led to stress, which led to grumpiness, which then led to feeling bad about being stressed and grumpy. I'm not sure why I'm surprised; it seems to happen every year. The cycle usually continues until Christmas Eve, when I then revel that the season has almost reached it's climax. In the back of my mind, I quietly admit to myself that I'll be relieved when it's over.
On this Christmas Eve, we enjoy a family get-together and a night of games. Later, the children eagerly agree to go to bed. While thoughts of Santa distract them, it seems like an eternity before Mr. Sandman finally pays them a visit. Their sweet little eyes fall as they drift to Dreamland.
Tonight before Santa arrives, I rush to the basement to bring up the wrapped presents. As I unlock the door one final time, all of a sudden, time seems to stand still. I find myself surrounded by the stillness unfamiliar to a home with three small children.
Then it happens.

I am totally overcome with emotion, almost to the point of tears.
I envision my childrens' faces as they open their gifts tomorrow. I imagine other children in the world who will have presents under the tree; and those that won't. I wonder if people are really nicer to each other during the Christmas season and I wonder if it makes a difference at all. Thinking about all of the pain and suffering in the world, I wonder if I have done anything at all to make a difference. Could I have given a few more dollars to the bell-ringer, or given another gift to the angel tree, or made a more generous donation to our charity?
As I carry the gifts up the stairs, I wonder what Jesus really thinks of all of this. Contemplating his birth and it's meaning, it seems as if I let myself stray so far from the true meaning of Christmas.
I make one final trip down to the basement to gather the last of the gifts. I turn off the light and leave the door unlocked this time; the spare room returns to its original purpose.
On the last trip up the stairs, I slowly and gently place the gifts under the soft light of the tree. Thinking I should be relieved to go to bed at this point, the opposite has happened. I find myself intentionally stalling and trying to savor every minute. A bit saddened that another year has passed, I wonder how many more Christmases are left before their childhood innocence has faded.
One last time I read the beautiful letters the kids left for Santa. Under the letters is a stack of artwork intended for a very large wall at the North Pole. On top of the letters, Yogi and Bella tenderly placed two small, neatly wrapped gifts. The letters explain that they've eached wrapped a favorite toy for Santa. They go on to explain they had wanted to get him a gift because he is so kind and thinks of everyone on Christmas. (Earlier in the week, they had asked if I thought Santa needed wrapping paper. Now this is all making sense.) Because they couldn't think of anything to get him, they wondered if Santa could use the toys to give to other children who might not have as much as they do.
I am extremely touched by their thoughtfulness. And proud. I'm reminded that that the smallest of good deeds can truly make a difference. Those small deeds can inspire others to do the same, and on and on...
Who would have thought that these two little toys might restore a bit of my hope ? These two little gifts that didn't come from the Christmas Room. The recipe for my "perfect Christmas" had been brewing in the hearts of my two oldest children long before I locked the door this year.
By now, Christmas eve has turned into the wee hours of Christmas morning and I realize Santa is probably waiting for me to get to bed too.
May you be inspired, and inspire others to spread goodwill every single day! Merry Christmas!